


Our House in the middle of the street.

by Sealie



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Rating: Gen (ish)<br/>Word count: ~1, 000<br/>Warning: none<br/>Advisory: none<br/>Spoilers: none<br/>Beta: none</p>
    </blockquote>





	Our House in the middle of the street.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluespirit/gifts).



> Rating: Gen (ish)  
> Word count: ~1, 000  
> Warning: none  
> Advisory: none  
> Spoilers: none  
> Beta: none

**Our House in the middle of the street**   
By sealie 

It was Grace that started it. She’d asked, completely innocently, why Uncle Steve lived in his Grandad’s house. Danny had looked around the clean, well-presented, dull, staid house and realised: yeah, Steven lived in his Dad’s house. And apart from the obvious wooden fixtures and the lanai which screamed Hawaii it was kinda like Grandpop William’s house on 87th Street with the photos and vases and kitchen filled with shit that nobody used. That somehow Grace had decided that Steve was young enough to have a Grandad and still was Uncle Steve, Danny was still trying to figure out. Early on, when Steve was still brand new at interacting with a kid, and as awkward as hell, Grace had asked her Danno if Steve was allowed a piece of her candy.

Danny had said no on principle. Steve and a sugar rush? He didn’t want to go there.

It was a nice house, and all, but it wasn’t Steve’s. It was a place with all the edges roughed off or smoothed where they shouldn’t be. Danny didn’t expect to see a bachelor pad with a black leather sofa and glass shelving, but that faux Ming vase on the stairs had to go.

The sofa currently wrecking his back as he slowly sagged into it was as old as the hills. A new sofa, in a stylish mono-chromatic blue would be much more _Steve_.

“How come you haven’t changed anything?” Danny asked and then realised that _hey_ it was his mom and dad’s house and maybe Steve was comfortable in a mausoleum. Ugh.

“Haven’t changed what?” Steve said around a massive yawn.

“The house?” Danny waved vaguely with his beer bottle at the living room, encompassing all the old shit -- apart from the flat screen tv, but it was an oldish model. Steve hadn’t bought it.

“Why would I want to change my house?” Steve slobbed a little lower on the sofa, stretching long legs out across the tapestry mat on the floor. “I like this one.”

“Not move. The décor. You know. Paint the walls a colour you like. Get rid of that weird unit under the windowsill. Go to Ikea – splurge.”

“We don’t have an Ikea in Hawaii. They ship, though.”

“So treat yourself.”

“I don’t like Ikea. And I’m not a student. I’m the head of a government task force; I’ll go to a department store and buy tasteful shit.”

“I get it, Babe. This is your home. But make it your own. That vase on the stairs is hideous.”

“What’s the matter with that vase? That was my mom’s grandmother’s vase.”

What could he say to that? Maybe Steve just had old taste or no taste. “Have you even unpacked?”

“Yeah, I’ve unpacked.” Steve pursed his lips, bottom one poking out a little further. “You’ve got baggage, Danny, literally. I had two duffles. Funnily enough, being in the ‘Stan kinda stops you carting a Chesterfield about.”

That made Danny feel like shit. “How’s about it then? We’ll go get you a decent sofa and you donate this piece of shit to Goodwill.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Perhaps if you’re used to sitting around on rocks next to a campfire.” Danny played his main card even if it was early in the game. “My knee needs a decent sofa.”

“Well, move out of your shithole of an apartment and get a decent, furnished apartment.”

“That’s what this is to you, isn’t it?” Danny said, light bulb going off. “This is another furnished apartment in a long line of apartments. No. no. no. Don’t interrupt. It’s your Dad’s house but it’s the place you’re storing your kit.”

Steve mulishly mouthed the end of his beer bottle, then tipped it back, throat working as he swallowed.

“Come on, Babe.” Danny cajoled. “Make it your own.”

~*~

Steve turned out to have two modes of shopping: the dash-and-grab and the weigh-and-consider-and-compare. The latter was tedious. The dash-and-grab in supermarkets was stunning to behold. Objective: milk – don’t get between Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett and his 0.5 percent. The little old ladies always appeared to enjoy the show as Steve lolloped up and down the aisles grabbing his wholewheat bread, five-a-day fruit and veg, and iso-tonic rehydration solution.

The sofa mission might destroy Danny’s will to live.

Too hard, too soft – Goldilocks had nothing on Steve – colour would show stains, the pattern was nauseating…

“What is your problem?” Danny demanded.

“Leather sucks. Our humidity. You’re wet. You stick. Sucks; literally.”

“Are there waterproof sofas?” Danny asked the beleaguered sales assistant.

“No,” she said, but brightened immediately. “They come with plastic covers for shipping. I’ve seen on tv that some people leave them on.”

“No,” Steve echoed. “That would be like leather.”

“Might protect them from the inevitable tsunami,” Danny mused.

~*~

The final chosen sofa was a thing of beauty, if Danny did say so himself. Massive, inbuilt lounge back and foot rest with a lever control. Wide enough and long enough and cushioned enough to fall asleep on with room to spare. The colour choice was interesting: ruby red in a close-weave fabric treated with every stain protective mask known to man and woman.

Practical and functional and somehow notoriously Steve, Danny was looking forward to lazing on it.

Steve was staring at him, eyebrows knotting together. “What are you thinking?”

“Just imagining your new sofa in the place of this piece of saggy-baggy shit.”

“Are you going to help me get this saggy-baggy piece of shit on the lanai for Goodwill to pick up?”

“Your sofa’s not going to be delivered until tomorrow,” Danny pointed out.

“I need to clean under the sofa. I can reproof the floor when it’s out of the way.”

And thus began the cleaning frenzy. Dust bunnies ran screaming in the face of the anti-static wipes. Moving the sofa shifted the mock Arabian tapestry mat on the floor which revealed more wooden flooring to clean. Danny had looked longingly at the front door, but he had started this and he knew that it was going to end up with every single piece of furniture in the entire sitting room being moved so that the floor could cleaned to perfection.

But they did end up with a pile on the lanai of ugly, old crap from the sitting room which Steve had also decided to donate to Goodwill. The walls had to be washed before the floor could be treated. There were also plans afoot to remodel the downstairs bathroom and kitchen.

Danny had created a monster.

~*~  
fin


End file.
